To Say His Name
by Tortugas-and-Lovi
Summary: Oneshot. America is late getting home, and Fem! Canada is worried. When he finally gets in, he is acting strangely. Human names used. Rated M for violence and rape. Not for the faint of heart.


**I no own Hetalia.**

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Meg rolled over in bed, sighing softly. Alfred hadn't come home yet and she couldn't sleep. It was three in the morning. She sat up in bed as she heard the front door open. Was it Alfred? Then she heard a soft voice as a shadowed figure entered her doorway.

"Meg, baby? You still awake?"

Meg sighed in relief, snuggling close to Alfred as he slipped into bed next to her. She was having trouble seeing since her glasses were off and the door to their room was closed so there was very little light. "I missed you," she breathed, running her fingers through his hair and kissing him softly. But something seemed wrong. She was used to Alfred holding her when they kissed. Had she done something wrong? "A-Alfred, what's wrong?" she inquired, struggling to remember her English as she began to panic.

"Nothing," he said, his voice low, "Nothing at all." He grinned maniacally and pinned Meg down to the bed, pulling a knife out of his belt. "And it's Al, by the way," he added, a cold note of passion creeping into his voice. Meg paled. Al? This wasn't her husband. That meant... No. She didn't want to think about what it meant. Al stared at the blade of his dagger lovingly before drawing it across Meg's forearm, leaving a foot long gash of red on her ivory skin. Meg's back arched in pain and her muscles tensed as she fought the urge to cry out in pain. Al brought the knife up to his lips, running his tongue along the dripping blade. He moaned softly, ripping her shirt of. He drew the knife across her stomach, gasping in pleasure at the sight of so much of Meg's blood. He pressed his face against her slick body, lapping up the strawberry liquid in perverse ecstasy.

Meg whimpered in agony, tears streaming down her cheeks. Al growled annoyedly. Marguerite always loved it when he cut her... Maybe Meg would prefer to be beaten. He gave her one last cut around her bicep, licking his dagger clean and placing it back in its sheath. He grabbed Meg and threw her off of the bed, shivering as he heard her body hit the floor.

Meg began to tremble and crawled over to the door, crying even harder when she discovered it was locked. Al smiled darkly and and stood over her, grabbing her hair and yanking it. She yelped, clutching her scalp. He growled in frustration. Why couldn't he make her squirm?!

Al pinned her to the ground, ripping their clothes off. He forced himself into her, holding her arms above her head. He dug his nails into her skin, scratching her arms as deeply as he could. Al groaned as he moved his pelvis back and forth, ignoring Meg's tortured yelps. Over an hour later, he pulled out of her, the insides of her thighs dripping with sweat and semen. Meg lay on the ground, her whole body shaking, a bit of her blood mingled with the whitish liquid. She had never had it this rough with Alfred. "Please... N-No more," she whimpered.

Al ignored her pleas and flipped her over, kneeling on her back. He picked up his dagger and grinned as he began to draw it through her soft flesh. He carved "AL" into the small of her back, moaning loudly. He pressed his face against the wound and licked up the blood. Meg gripped the carpet, all color gone from her beautiful face. Suddenly, the door flew open.

Alfred stood in the doorway, his eyes wide and frantic. "MEG!" he yelled, seeing her laying on the ground. And blood...There was blood all over...Meg's blood. Then he noticed Al. This was all his fault. Alfred barreled over to Al, knocking him off of Meg and kneeing him in the stomach. Meg curled up in a ball, swaying back and forth as if in a trance as she watched the two men fight with blank eyes.

Three days later, Meg sat at her and Alfred's table, staring at a wall. She hadn't eaten or spoken since Al had come. "Meg, baby, _please_eat," Alfred pleaded, his eyes filled with concern. Meg shook her head, bringing her knees up to her chest. All Meg had been able to do was sit and stare, not really seeing anything. Alfred had bathed her, dressed her, and attempted to feed her. It was all he could really do for the small Canadian.

"Please baby, you've gotta eat," he said, pressing a bit of maple candy against her lips. Meg's eyes softened and she took a small bite of it, reaching out to touch his cheek. Alfred wrapped his arms around her tightly and held her against his chest, burying his face in her hair. "Meg," he breathed, pulling back slightly and covering her face in kisses. Meg smiled up at him, wishing she could remember how to talk. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, that she would die without him. She wanted to say his name. But she couldn't.

Meg stood up shakily, leading Alfred to their room. She picked up Al's dagger, holding it out towards him. "What is it , sweetheart?" Alfred asked confusedly. Meg took the knife and put it in Alfred's hand, pointing towards her back. "No honey, I didn't cut you," he explained, trying to make sense of what she was showing him. Meg shook her head. She took a piece of paper and wrote _Alfred_ clumsily. She showed it to him and once more pointed to her back. "Meg, I'm not going to do that to you!" he said frantically, finally understanding what she wanted him to do. Meg ignored him and stripped, laying on the floor patiently. Alfred knew he would always regret what he was about to do.

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**This is a one-shot. In case you haven't guessed by now, Al is 2p! America. If enough people would like a follow-up, than I'll be happy to oblige :3**

**Cookies for all, and thank you for reading.**


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